“Oct. 3. Left Lymington at half-past three, in the packet for Yarmouth; after viewing the fair, and the fine booths of trinkets and plate. Passed many charming residences among the woody banks on the left. Glided smoothly under a light summer air; the evening splendid, and the scene most lovely. The Needles are vast dark blocks of rock, tall, but not pointed, standing out from the island in the sea. Hurst castle, with its dark line of peninsula stretching athwart the Channel. The Needles become more huge seen against the light, with the point of the Alum Rock in shade. These objects, with the high line of the Isle of Purbeck, faintly grey beyond, composed a perfect picture, with most harmonious colouring. The light silver grey of the sea first, met the eye, then the dark Alum Rock projected to meet Hurst Castle, whose towers were pencilled in deep grey beyond, which softened away to the heights of Purbeck, that closed the perspective. After sun-set, streaks of brightest crimson appeared on the sky, behind clouds, black and swelling; the upper shores clear, though dark. Approached Yarmouth, under this sweet twilight. The western shore of Yarmouth goes off in a darkly wooded point, with many white houses, or cottages, among the trees. Landed on Yarmouth quay, small, and crowded with people. Dutch sentinels on the little fort over the quay and rampart of the old casle. Our inn built by Sir Robert Holmes, governor of the island, on the scite, I fancy, of Henry the Eighth’s old castle. Our horse and gig came in another packet.
“Oct. 4. After breakfasting at Yarmouth, set out in a bright morning for the Lighthouse above the Needles. As we rose, the Channel and the English coast, from Portsdown Hill (known by its long chalk-pit) to the shore near Pool in Dorsetshire, lay before us, bounded partly by the New Forest and thick inclosures, and spreading with towns and villages and innumerable seats and farms, with a vast extent of the northern part of the Isle of Wight, and with Southampton Bay, to Lymington, here and there a white house on the shore, snug under trees, and other house-tops peeping out, almost wherever I directed the glass, above the forest. Discovered Lyndhurst steeple, with the large white house at Mount Royal, ‘ bosomed high in tufted trees.’ The whole country, from the neighbourhood of Southampton to the West, rises gradually from the shore into a line of horizon little varied; but the richness and cheerful beauty of this widely extending amphitheatre, seen over the calm blue Channel, with here and there a white sail and a ship of war at anchor, permit no desire for greater variety. As we rose upon the down, this scene enlarged: the Isle of Purbeck became more majestic; its outline is more mountainous than that of the Isle of Wight, with a range of high awful cliffs below. It was now tinged with misty azure, but the sun brightened all the sea before it. Two of its summits appeared finely in the perspective from Cowes’ Point. The effect of the sea so close on either hand of this vast western promontory, called the Needle Point, or the Alum rock, running out upon the ocean like a long narrow causeway, is awful. You have a wonderful and rather a painful sensation of the narrowness of the earth that bears you, though it may be half a mile, or more, in width. As the Needle rocks were not visible from the Lighthouse, we left the chaise, and descended the down half a mile, and looked upon them. On their summits, which now seem sharp, and splintered into ledges and points, perceived with the glass numbers of dark birds quietly seated; not one took wing, or uttered any cry. Perhaps it was owing to our great height, that the Needles disappointed us, and appeared insignificant, compared with the grander objects around us: listened to the surge breaking below, round the feet of these rocks. Did not venture near enough the edge to see into Alum Bay. Drove to Freshwater Bay. The inn at Freshwater Gate in the bottom is a little cottage, with two or three rooms apart on the beach. A ruinous and desolate shore spreads and rises on either hand. Mounted a promontory, which confined our view from the inn, on the right. Greatness and desolation. As the tide was coming in, could not see a cave in the cliff below. Returned to Yarmouth at five.”
The following is Mrs. Radcliffe’s account of a visit to the tract called Undercliffe.
“Oct. 6. Set off for the Undercliffe, a tract of shore formed by fallen cliffs, and closely barricadoed by a wall of rock of vast height. Entered upon it about a mile from Kniton, and found ourselves in such a scene of ruin, as we never saw before. The road is, for the most part, close to the wall of rock, which seems to lie in loose horizontal strata, with frequent perpendicular fissures, which threaten the trravelle with destruction, as he passes sometimes beneath enormous masses, that lean forward. This is the boundary on one side of the road; on the other side, is an extremely irregular and rugged descent of half a mile towards the sea: on this side, there are sometimes what may be called amphitheatres of rock, where all the area is filled with ruins, which are, however, frequently covered with verdure and underwood, that stretch up the sides, with the wildest pomp, and shelter here a cottage, here a villa among the rocky hillocks. We were two hours and a half in going from Kniton to the inn at Steephill, five miles, W. leading the horse almost the whole way: a Druid scene of wildness and ruin. Sometimes the road led us into vast semicircular bays of rock, filled up entirely to the eye with wild wood and broken hillocks; the sea below appearing to stretch so from point to point, that it seemed impossible to make our way out, till the road led us under projecting crags of the promontory into other recesses, and, winding under these threatened ing walls, again led near the sea, on which I looked down, not without terror. Descended upon the romantic and sweet village of St. Lawrence, among thickets on a hill, near the shore. Beautiful cottages, covered with ivy even to the chimney tops, with each its garden, and some with little orchards hung with golden fruit; clear, gushing rills passing under the shades to the sea. A mile beyond, the beautiful village of Steephill, in the same style. Went to the New Inn, standing on a hill, with a wide sea view in front, half a mile off, and at the foot of St. Boniface Downs, whose steep green sides rise to a tremendous height behind it, having below them, on the other hand, the little woody village of St. Boniface, with its beautiful cottages and villas.”
The remaining memoranda of the visit to Steephill, are too long to be extracted, but contain some beautiful descriptions, and several vivid notices of the effects of light, as for example:— “The sea in gloom, with gleams of cold silvery light upon it, where the clouds began to break: these lights finely marked the distances on the grand surface of the ocean, as they fell in blue lines.” Again, “ Sunlights on the sea, and, now and then, bright green spots between black shadows;” — in the evening “ a fiery sun-set with sullen clouds.” The following short recollection of a storm is full of feeling and power: —
“After dark, a storm, with thunder and lightning; listened to the strong, steady force of the wind and waves below. The thunder rolled and burst at intervals, and often the sound was so mingled with that of the wind and waves, as to be scarcely distinguished from it. No complaining of the wind, but a strong and awful monotony. Lightning, very blue, showed at moments the foaming waves far out: utter darkness between the flashes. Glad to hear from the other side of the house, cheerful voices talking, or singing. When the storm subsided, the thunder rolled away towards the Sussex coast. This display of the elements was the grandest scene I ever beheld; a token of GOD directing his world. What particularly struck me was the appearance of irresistible power, which the deep monotonous sound of the wind and surge conveyed. Nothing sudden; nothing laboured; all a continuance of sure power, without effort.”
From Steephill the travellers proceeded to Ryde, where Mrs. Radcliffe made the following characteristic remarks:— “Rejoice to look again on a peopled sea, and prefer this point of the Isle, for animated and beautiful scenery, to any other. The back of the island has very extensive views; and, for that extensiveness, may be called grand; but there are no mountain lines, no shapes, that overwhelm us with admiration: the want of wood forbids them magnificence. The undercliff is wild and romantic, rather than grand; but the sea horizon from it, is often very grand. Upon the whole, I prefer rich beauty to wild beauty, unless accompanied by such shapes of grand
eur as verge upon the sublime. Lovely sun-set; a roseate, melting into saffron and shades of blue; some light purple streaks. Below, the dark woody line of shore bending towards Cowes; the bay at its feet, purpled from the clouds. All this seen from our bedroom windows, above and between lofty trees.”
Mr and Mrs. Radcliffe returned by Salisbury. We extract from the journal the approach to Salisbury and the description of its Cathedral.
“Oct. 13. Rainy morning; cleared up to a lovely afternoon. Left Southampton before twelve, for Salisbury. Turned out of the road, at the village of Totting, and soon entered upon the skirts of the New Forest, but saw no avenues there, no lovely forest-glades, rather forest-land, than forest; but we had often rich woody views into the vale, near Southampton on the right, and continual forests rising on the left; and a few miles from Plaitford, came upon some of the sweetest scenery of the New Forest. Upon a wild glade, touching effect of misty light, beyond its gloom. Sometimes an opening in the near copses showed a distant perspective of deep shade. About five miles from Salisbury, gain the summit of a high ridge, and look at once upon a new and grander ridge large and sharper hills rising to a great extent, with the vast Cathedral and lofty spire of Salisbury in front. We had lingered so much on our road, that as we entered Salisbury, a new moon gave us faintly the shadow of its sublime Cathedral, with its pointed roofs and its pinnacles and its noble spire. How could Mr. Gilpin prefer a tower to it! Saw, as we passed, the moonlight shining through the windows of the aisles and touching aslant the lofty spire, while the elms beside it were in deep shade. Had entered the city by a deep Gothic gateway, and saw others lighted up in perspective, in a street, out of which we turned to our inn, the Antelope — a very good inn.
“Oct. 14. Went, in the rain, to the Cathedral: entered it just as the organ and chaunt struck up; very fine, but not so solemn, as at Canterbury. The church most light, beautiful and elegant; but it did not affect me, like the solemn simplicity, the awful roofs and grand perspective of Canterbury. The tone of the organ, too, very good, but did not listen for its swelling and dying sounds, as through the vast aisles of Canterbury; there is not space for them to roll in, and murmur afar off, as there. Was much struck with the effigies of the dead, laid out on each side of the great aisle, from pillar to pillar. Having been brought by Mr. Wyatt from St. Mary’s Chapel, that terminates the choir, they have been placed on a raised step, that seems indeed to have been originally designed for them. The pillars of this Cathedral are in Gothic clusters, not of the slender form, that afterwards prevailed, but, as Mr. Gilpin says, “ when Saxon heaviness first began to give way.” Their effect is elegant. They are washed of a stone colour, as are the walls and roofs; the last are without tracery, and are marked as if of brick. The arches are obtusely pointed, having one narrow vein of open work running near the outer edge, which gives lightness to them.”
After an attempt to visit Stonehenge, which was frustrated by a violent storm, Mr and Mrs. Radcliffe returned, in the leisurely manner which they preferred, to London.
In the autumn of 1802, Mr and Mrs. Radcliffe took a journey to Leicester and Warwick, and returned by Woodstock and Oxford. From the journal kept during that tour, the following descriptions of Kenilworth, of one or two scenes in Warwick Castle, and of Blenheim, are perhaps most worthy of selection. Both Warwick Castle and Blenheim are described with great minuteness; but both these mansions are so generally known, that it is thought sufficient to extract such portions of the accounts of them only, as are most characteristic of the writer’s feelings and tastes.
KENILWORTH.
“Left Coventry at half past twelve, and passed through a pleasant wellwooded country to Kenilworth. Almost every village overtopped with lofty trees. Passed for some miles over Kenilworth Chase, by a straight road of noble breadth, bordered with forest. Part of this forest was, in former times, cut down, in order to dislodge robbers. The gate of the castle, to which we drove up, is in the grey square tower, built on a high rock, by Leicester. This gate being now a residence, the former entrance by it to the court of the Castle is stopped up, and we passed through the garden, at its side, into the green and open area, that was once the grand court of the castle. Hence we looked up to the noble masses of ruin that still stand proudly, and form three broken and irregular sides of what was once the inner court. Of the buildings that formed the fourth side, there are now no vestiges, except the knolliness of the ground, where they once stood, may be called such, and except part of the buildings still called Leicester’s, these having been built by him. These are a fine mass of ruined walls, covered with thickest ivy, on the left; on the right, stands a more noble mass, with three lofty arches in a row, going the whole depth of the wall, sixteen feet: this is called Caesar’s Tower, and, though the oldest part of the Castle, appears, on the outside, the freshest and newest. It is of a greyer and more solid stone than the rest. This, too, is finely hung with ivy. Between these masses, in perspective, forming the third side of the court, is the most picturesque remainder of the castle, though Caesar’s Tower is the grandest. This was once the great hall, or banqueting-room. Its three beautiful pointed window-frames are there still; and the arch of a Gothic door, most elegantly twined with vine-leaves, all now hung and clustered with the richest drapery of ivy. The trunk of some of this ivy is of great thickness, and it is so old, that in some places, the branches are sapless and leafless, and the grey stalks seemed to crawl about the ruin in sympathy. Other remains of buildings partly connect the three sides of the court, and are intermingled and crowned with alder and ash plants. This view of the ruin was very striking; the three chief masses great and solemn, without being beautiful. They spoke at once to the imagination, with the force and simplicity of truth, the nothingness and brevity of this life— ‘generations have beheld us and passed away, as you now behold us, and shall pass away: they thought of the generations before them, as you now think of them, and as future ages shall think of you. We have witnessed this, yet we remain; the voices that revelled beneath us are heard no more, yet the winds of Heaven still sound in our ivy.’ And a still and solemn sound it was as we stood looking up at these walls.”
SCENES IN WARWICK CASTLE.
“After leaving the great hall, went, on the left, into the chapel — a plain memorable chapel, lined with oak; then to the armoury, a long, narrow’ gallery, or rather a suite of narrow rooms, communicating by small Gothic doorways, and extending, perhaps, nearly the whole length of the Castle, with tall windows of painted glass, bowing out into-the court of the Castle. The walls of this armoury were covered with weapons of various kinds and sizes, from the Indian war-spear, to the Highland dirk, with a knife and fork tucked into the same sheath. But what struck me most was near the end of the gallery (when it makes a sudden turn into the tower that terminates the castle), where appeared before me a broad, yet dark staircase of oak, and at the foot of it, as if guarding the passage, a large figure in complete armour, the beaver down, and a sword in its hand! The general twilight, with the last western gleam breaking through the painted window at the foot of the staircase, and touching the bronze, gave full effect to this scene, and heightened the obscurity of the stairs, in perspective. This armour came from Germany; our conductor knew no more. Saw the brass coat, shot-proof, worn by Lord Brooke when he was shot in the eye during his attack upon Lichfield Cathedral. On the opposite side, a complete suit of black armour, the knees with projecting points: could learn nothing of its history. Left the building with regret. Paused again in the court to admire the beautiful lofty acacias and other noble trees surrounding the lawn, and the most majestic towers forming the grand front. The octagon tower, rising in the angle of the walls near the house-door, the most beautiful, as far as regards proportion; the one nearest the house the most venerable and warlike. Near the summit an embattled overhanging gallery, where formerly, no doubt, sentinels used to pace during the night, looked down upon the walls of the Castle, the rivers and the country far and wide, received the watchword from the
sentinel, perched in the little watchtower, higher still and seeing farther in the moonlight, and repeated it to the soldiers on guard on the walls and gates below. Before those great gates and underneath these towers, Shakspeare’s ghost might have stalked; they are in the very character and spirit of such an apparition, grand and wild and strange; there should, however, have been more extent. Stayed before these grey towers till the last twilight.
BLENHEIM.
“Lovely day. At eleven, walked through the Park. The triumphal arch, at the entrance, has too much the air of a merely handsome gateway; the convenient division into passages in the ordinary mode of considerable gates, leaves nothing appropriate to Fame. The view of the Park, with the turrets of the palace, of the mass of wood beyond, the verdant sweep of the intermediate ground, that descends to the water, with the water itself and the Palladian bridge beyond, is very striking, a few paces after the entrance. The palace itself, though here seen beyond and over clumps of trees, appears to greater advantage than when more distinctly viewed: its many turrets, now beheld in clusters, have an air of grandeur, which they want when separately observable. As we advance, the groves on the left thicken and have a forest-like shade; but the view on the rising ground, including the celebrated pillar, is too much broken into parts. Though the ground rises finely, its great flowing lines are spoiled by too many groves; there should have been one, or two, grand masses of wood, and the rest sweeping lawn. This park is not comparable with that at Knole, either for swell and variety of surface, or for grandeur and disposition of wood; no such enchanting groves of plane and birch and oak, as there. But a very grand avenue extends from the Oxford gate to the palace. On entering the garden, of finest turf and shade, pass the east front to the lawn of the back front, opening to a view of distant hills between the high groves. The back front of the house much the best; more simple, and, seen in perspective, very good. Parterres in the flower-garden, with basket-work round them, in the pretty fashion of the last century in France. Hence, through deep shade to the sheep-walk, where the light opens upon the country, and then soon look down upon another bridge and water. This walk continues on the brow, for about half a mile, very sweetly, and leads to a sloping lawn shaded with the noblest trees in the garden. More struck with this spot than with any, except about the large lake. First, two poplars of most astonishing height, much larger than those in the avenue at Manheim. At their feet, the light green spray foliage of these deciduous cypresses had a most charming effect. Near the poplars, a lofty plane, but inferior in height. Near this, a surprising Portugal laurel swept the ground, and spread to a vast circumference; a very extraordinary tree for size. Delighted with the steep green slope, the water and bridge below, the abrupt woody banks opposite, and, above all, the grandeur of the shades. Pass the bridge: on the right, the massy rocks of the cascade, but no water; on the left, the water winding beyond the woody banks; a highly tufted island, with a wooden building near its margin, very picturesque.
Delphi Complete Works of Ann Radcliffe (Illustrated) Page 327